


At Cruel Angles

by SophiaOfTheSevenStorms



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Basically just a whole bunch of sexual tension, But there was a lot going on and I am not organised, Christmas Themed, M/M, and some crying, anyway, yes i know it's late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms/pseuds/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms
Summary: “I always knew it, of course,” Elias continues. A slight tightening of his grip on John’s jaw is the only acknowledgement he gives that John had said anything at all. “I still remember the first day you walked into the Institute, the way the air around you seemed almost to light up the moment you stepped across the threshold…  I knew instantly that our Master wanted you.”He presses a kiss to John’s forehead, his fingers digging into his skin hard enough to bruise.“It didn’t hurt that I did, too.”





	At Cruel Angles

**Author's Note:**

> Urgh, so... this was meant to be for the tumblr TMA Christmas challenge, to be posted before the 24th of December, hence the Christmas theme, but obviously that didn't happen. Oh well, hopefully it's still somewhat enjoyable.

Ah, John. I was hoping I'd find you here."

Elias' voice hits him like an arrow between the ears. His hand tightens on his pen and he sits up straighter in his chair, shoulders tightening. Careless... he'd been getting so careless recently. In the months since he'd agreed to return to the Institute he'd done his best never to be alone with his employer- the man had brutally murdered two people, after all- and, for the most part, his avoidance strategy had been a success, mostly due to Martin's unerring ability to interrupt any conversation between him and Elias longer than five seconds. 

But tonight all his assistants are upstairs at the Institute Christmas party, having managed to survive the last year, perhaps not intact, but at least without making themselves social pariahs dogged by accusations of murder they just can’t shake. John knows he should join them, should try and talk and laugh and eat canapés with people who had willingly believed him capable of beating an old man to death with a blunt instrument, but he just doesn't have the energy for it. Besides, there was always more work to be done and the statements wouldn't wait just because it was almost Christmas. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you there, John" 

Elias steps into the office, crossing the cramped space in a few short steps until he reaches John's desk. Lightning bolts of adrenaline course up his spine as Elias lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Elias. What do you want?” 

Was that too rude? Too confrontational? Elias hasn’t shown any sign of wanting to harm him since his return to the Institute but he can’t take that fact for granted. 

"I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas, that's all." Elias’ voice is mild, pleasant even, but John's sure he's not imagining the undercurrent of satisfied amusement. Elias knows exactly how terrified he is, and he is loving every moment of it. 

"I know the last few months haven't been the easiest for you, John." His employer continues. He sits down on the edge of the desk, uncomfortably close, and, against his better judgement, John finds himself looking up, staring into Elias' dark eyes. "I know there have been some... challenges you've had to face. But I just wanted you to know how glad I am that you decided to come back to the Institute. It's good to have you back home." 

_Home._ The idea _should_ be ludicrous. He should be laughing in Elias' face for even trying to suggest it. But, much as John tries to deny it, he knows Elias is right. This cold, cramped office in the basement of a rickety old building filled with people who hate him and controlled by a supernatural force to which he is entirely enthralled shouldn't be the closest thing he has to home. Yet it is. He breathes in heavily, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hands. He doesn't want to look away from Elias in case he loses whatever mind game the man is playing with him, but he doesn't want him to notice the sudden dampness in his eyes. He will not cry in front of this monster. He will not. 

"I also wanted to give you this," Elias produces a small, rectangular package wrapped in green tissue paper and tied in a silver ribbon. A label shaped like an owl hangs off the ribbon.

_"To my Archivist - E."_

"It's just a little thing." He shrugs, smiling. I know we’re only meant to exchange presents through the office Secret Santa, but I wanted to give you something a bit more... personal."

John pulls at the ribbon, not bothering to hide the trembling in his hands as he unwraps the present. He pulls off the tissue paper to reveal a thin leather box. He has no idea what it could be but it looks distressingly expensive. 

“Go on,” Elias is still smiling. Jon undoes the catch and flips open the lid. Inside the box is… a pipe. A fucking _pipe_. It is thin and elegant, made out of dark wood and looking like something straight out of a Sherlock Holmes story. For a moment he does nothing but stare at it, hardly even daring to breathe. Is this some kind of sick joke? Or perhaps a threat? 

“Think of it more as… a promise.” John stares up at Elias, eyes wide. Every beat of his heart feels like a blow against his chest. He doesn’t even bother wondering how Elias knows his thoughts. Of course he does, Elias knows everything. Elias runs a supernatural cult disguised as a research institute, he murdered at least two people in cold blood and he knows _fucking everything_. 

“I know you’ve taken up smoking again recently, John. I can’t say I approve, but if you’re going to smoke, you should at least do it with some style.”

The comment is delivered with so much warmth and something sounding almost like affection that John can’t help but laugh- at Elias’ tone, at the situation, at how his psychotic boss thinks it’s a good idea to deliver a veiled totally-not-threat in the form of a _pun_. Laughter dissolves into helpless giggling that leaves him gasping for breath, lungs burning and tears rolling down his cheeks. All the terror and tragedy of the last year, the panic and paranoia and endless, churning anxiety that had built up and up and up, released in a single, ridiculous moment until he is sobbing, mouth open and eyes screwed shut, his body shaking in great, ugly gasps. 

He feels fingers thread through the hair at the back of his head and before he can protest, Elias pulls him closer until his head is resting on his chest. John buries his face in Elias’ cashmere sweater, fingers clutching at the material below Elias’ left shoulder, just above his heart. His tears soak into the dark green fabric as he struggles for breath and he knows he should pull away, should be horrified at being so close to a man like Elias but it’s been so long since anyone has held him with such gentleness and he is so, so tired of fighting. 

“I know, I know,” Elias’ voice is soft, all trace of mockery gone. “It’s alright. You’ve done so well this last year, John, so well. You’ve served our Master better than I could ever have hoped for. I am so proud of you.” 

John shivers as Elias runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. With his cheek pressed into Elias’ chest, Elias’ heartbeat echoes through his head, a strong, steady rhythm so unlike the desperate hammering of his own pulse. The beat seems to fill every inch of his skull and he presses his forehead even closer into Elias’ sweater, clinging to him with both hands now. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, Elias murmuring gentle words of praise into his hair as he cries, but eventually John’s breathing slows, sobs dissolving into hiccups and gradually into silence. He feels like an overtired child, embarrassment rushing in to fill the emptiness left by his tears. 

He lets go of Elias and tries to pull away but Elias’ grip tightens on his neck. His fingers curl though John’s hair, tilting back his head as he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. John sits, frozen, as Elias wipes the tears from his cheeks and cleans his face. Elias is staring into his eyes and he can’t seem to look away. He feels like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a hawk, a comparison he’d always thought was a tired cliche until this moment. 

“Good boy. Feel better now?”

Against all good judgement, John nods, hardly able to believe he is doing so. His skin burns with humiliation, with the outrage he knows he really should be acting upon, and something else he can’t bring himself to name. Elias puts the handkerchief away but his hand soon returns to John’s face, stroking over his jaw, his thumb coming to rest on John’s lower lip. John shudders and it takes all his strength not to lean into the touch, not to open his mouth and let Elias do whatever he might want to him. 

Elias’ eyes flash and a smile spreads across his face. “All in good time, John, all in good time,”

He leans down until his mouth is almost touching John’s ear. “Who knows… maybe next time I’ll give you something else to put in your mouth.” 

John;’ head jerks away, his eyes wide as he stares at Elias. His employer looks back at him, face impassive. Surely he hadn’t just implied… the crudity of the innuendo seems wrong from Elias’ lips, his precise, cultured voice, combined with his complete lack of acknowledgement of it, lending the words a surreal quality that is every bit as disturbing as the idea they articulated. 

He wants to be disgusted, to leap from his chair and demand Elias leave his office. But an image rises, unbidden, into John’s mind: of himself kneeling on the rug beneath Elias’ desk, Elias’ hand in his hair as he guides John’s head down onto his cock… John chokes back a gasp, turning his face away. He can feel the blood rushing into his cheeks, his heart beating against his ribs like a captive at the bars of a cage. He can’t bring himself to look at Elias. 

“Yes, I thought you’d like that idea…” Elias is laughing and John flinches as fingers return to his jaw, lifting his chin with a delicacy that belies the violence he knows those hands are capable of. 

“You are so wonderfully suggestible, John. All Archivists are, to a certain extent, of course, but you are… particularly impressive.”

“Elias… _please_ …” He is shaking, barely able to get the words out, barely knowing what it is he’s asking for. He should ask Elias to stop, he knows. There’s a chance he might even listen. And yet… 

“I always knew it, of course,” Elias continues. A slight tightening of his grip on John’s jaw is the only acknowledgement he gives that John had said anything at all. “I still remember the first day you walked into the Institute, the way the air around you seemed almost to light up the moment you stepped across the threshold… I knew instantly that our Master wanted you.”

He presses a kiss to John’s forehead, his fingers digging into his skin hard enough to bruise. 

“It didn’t hurt that I did, too.” 

It is all becoming too much. He can barely breathe and he’s shaking so hard he’s worried he’ll fall off his chair. He wants to push Elias away and storm out of the room. He wants to bury his head in Elias’ lap and shut out everything else in the world. He wants Elias to fuck him until he can barely remember his name, until he forgets all the terror and and loneliness that have followed him for so long. 

Elias stares at him for a long moment, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry about that. But not tonight.” He lets go of John and stands up, crossing the office floor in a few strides. John wants to reach out for him but catches himself before he can. His face feels cold. 

“Get some rest, John. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”


End file.
